


Pastel

by Raquiesha



Category: Crusader Kings (Video Game), Crusader Kings 2 (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 01:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20350099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raquiesha/pseuds/Raquiesha
Summary: She remembers an easier time, and decides to relive it before it's too late.One-shot inspired by CK.





	Pastel

She paced back and forth while throwing occasionally glances at the woman who still lay in her bed. Soon the sun would paint the sky in pastel, and with that, her brother would die. The birds sang and she thought it would be a beautiful day. It was spring. She liked spring.

Her hand massaged her barren abdomen. In the last years, she had lost so many.  
First, her mother. Then, her only child and heir. Now, her husband was dying, and her brother had tried to seize power.  
Her brother had always been a fool. An arrogant, naïve fool. He had to be punished.  
It was spring and she could not wait for the flowers to bloom. Her brother used to pick flowers with her.  
No one picked flowers with her anymore.

The birds stopped singing when the sword separated his head from his body. It took the executioner two tries before the spine finally shattered and gave in. Her brother had always had a strong will to live, and his straight back and posture met Death with the same attitude they met every morning sky. With just as a straight back she watched his head roll over the brown-stained planks. She did not look away. Not once.

In the back of the crowd, her lover stood dressed in a delicate tailored gown. They did not seek each others' gazes. No one could know about them, yet many did. Over her heart, a small flower was embroidered in pastel colors.  
She had to get her lover a new dress.

She sat next to her bedridden husband. He held her hand. They had since their child’s death become friends.  
She had forgiven him for what he had done to her before. According to him, he had done nothing wrong. She forgave him anyway.  
With parched, cracked lips he whispered words she could not understand. His hand burned in hers.  
She thought it was a shame those hands never picked any flowers. Maybe he had not gotten sick if he only had seen the beauty that resided in the world.  
He often said she was the most beautiful thing in the world. They both knew he lied.  
She was a thing, but not the most beautiful. Not to him. Never to him.

Next to her plate, there was a bouquet in a crystal vase. Most flowers held the color of a strong, dazzling yellow. It was a pleasant color. Not pastel. But one of them had dark red petals, and it reminded her of her brother’s blood.  
She sighed and continued eating.

A peasant came to her and complained about his crops. He said he feared for his family. She thought about her child, her husband, her brother, and her mother. Never her father.  
She said she would help him, and he did not have to do anything in return.  
The peasant refused and went away empty-handed. He was used to hidden agendas.  
How could he know she just wanted to see the crops grow?

She sent away her maids when her hair was brushed and braided. Her lover would arrive any minute now. Time went by. Her lover would arrive any second now.  
The delay gave her time to think. There was a rumor that war soon would paint the sky with smoke plumes and wails. She was not sure if it was true.  
How could she when there was no one left to trust?  
She sat down on the edge of her bed. Her lover was late, and by the rattling sounds from the hall, she figured that her lover would never again sneak in protected by the cloak of night.  
She hugged her pillow, closed her eyes and decided that in the morning, she was to go out and pick flowers.


End file.
